


Carpeted

by danwriteskink



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, F/F, Gags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2012-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danwriteskink/pseuds/danwriteskink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen is walking Charlotte carefully into this lifestyle, but Charlotte is not afraid to go further.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpeted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: _Helen/Charlotte D/s, bondage_

Helen's office is quiet, apart from the soft tick of an brass carriage clock. Standing in front of the desk, Charlotte sways. It's hard to keep your balance when your arms are tied tight behind your back, especially in those bloody high heel boots that Helen loves her to wear. It's like some scene from an old-fashioned boarding school novel: Charlotte is the naughty schoolgirl brought to the headmistress's study, except that Charlotte is naked but for her boots and the wide ball gag strapped into her mouth.

At the desk, Helen's hand moves quickly across the page, with the pen held lightly in her right hand. Charlotte watches the words spool out, impeccably neat. It's no distraction, though, from the pinch of her toes or the way her nipples have drawn up tight and throbbing in the cool breeze from the window. She keeps her head carefully level; there is drool pooling in the corners of her mouth. She's managing it for now, but it's hard work, and she's got enough to concentrate on already: posture, foot pain, the growing cramp in her arms despite how carefully Helen restrained them. God, please let Helen be done with this soon; Charlotte is so close to drooling all over her own breasts and there's nothing she can do to stop it happening. Her stomach flip-flops with the humiliation of that image, and she squeezes her thighs together. She wants her hands free, to wipe her mouth and to shove between her legs. Charlotte wants to get off, but Helen's pen keeps scratching at the paper, and there will never be any relief.

A sharp spasm in her calf muscle makes her groan and stumble; her legs are protesting the unnatural posture of those leather boots. Charlotte staggers on numb toes, desperately trying to find her position again. There's a cane on Helen's desk, and while it's only ever been a threat, Charlotte isn't ready to discover what that feels like on her skin. She is sure that Helen is very competent with the instrument, because, honestly, what isn't Helen Magnus competent at? She has certainly walked Charlotte into this new lifestyle with calm reason and promises of pleasure. At every stage, Charlotte has thought she couldn't sink any deeper, and at every stage, Helen shown her that she has the capacity to feel so much more. Charlotte hasn't said no yet.

The pen nib has stopped moving; Helen is watching Charlotte's futile struggle for balance and dignity. Charlotte lurches from side to side, her shoulders working in the bindings as she unconsciously moves her bound arms. Terrified of falling, she has forgotten the gag. By the time she has regained her footing in front of the desk, there are long strings of saliva spiling forth from her open mouth. It's cool against her skin. It's sliding over one breast, close to the nipple. Charlotte closes her eyes and moans softly with shame. She feels small and controlled, like a badly behaved pet. There's nothing to do but experience it.

"Would you like this to stop, my dear?" Helen's voice is loud in the quiet room, and Charlotte jumps. When she opens her eyes, Helen is quite close, leaning against the edge of the desk with her arms crossed. It's odd somehow that she's fully dressed; Charlotte realises it's because she's become completely accustomed to being naked. She had forgotten that most people aren't naked in someone's office.

Charlotte makes a muffled plea around the rubber ball. The muscles in her calves are jumping, the top of her thighs are slick where she's been trying to rub herself, and her jaw is aching. Please, please, she tries to say, though she's so tired that she's not sure what exactly she's begging for. Relief, she supposes. Relief of some kind.

"You've really done remarkably well," says Helen. She reaches out and idly strokes the hard stomach muscles, and they clench under her hand. "You're very strong. All that trekking through forests, I suppose."

Charlotte has given up completely on dignity. She pants through the gag, pays no attention to the saliva that still falls uncontrolled from her mouth held open. The cramp in her legs is completely forgotten; lust gives her the energy to thrust her cunt forward, to pout and beg with her hips. Display behaviour, her academic mind flashes at her, thinking of the animals she has studied for years. She moans again, breathing hoarse, hands clenching and opening where they are bound against the opposite elbow. Helen has reduced her to animal needs, then roped and restrained her to stop her satisfying herself. She is entirely dependent on Helen's hand, as it travels down her abdomen.

"There, now. What a good girl." Helen slips two fingers between Charlotte's legs and find her clit. She rubs back and forth, circles across the tip, finding all the right places with precise surgeon's fingers. Her expression is detached, as if she were carrying out some scientific process on a lab animal.

When Charlotte comes, she thrusts forwards against Helen's fingers, and even with the ball shoved between her teeth, she screams.

Helen catches her as she folds, takes the weight of her in her arms, helps her to the window seat. The ropes fall away as Charlotte gasps for breath, the ball-gag unbuckled, and a soft blanket pulled over her. While her body still twitches with aftershocks, Helen strokes her hair, rubs her shoulders, and curls her legs up off the ground. Charlotte is crying a little, overwhelmed by feelings of relief, shame, gratitude, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant longing for the next experience.

Helen hasn't taken her hands off Charlotte since the ropes came off. She cradles Charlotte's body, and Charlotte feels safe and light and warm. Eventually she falls silent, lies quietly in Helen's lap.

"I will always keep you safe," Helen says, softly. "I know that this is something new and intense, but I will never let you be hurt by it." Her fingers rest at the point of Charlotte's jaw, where the muscles are taut and sore.

Charlotte turns onto her back, and presses her lips to Helen's fingertips. "I think," she says, still hoarse from the gag, "that I might like it to hurt a little."

Helen smiles, and it's a smile filled with a terrible promise. "In that case, I most certainly can oblige."


End file.
